#write it out

I’m not concerned about their half of his cremation costs. I’m not concerned about the money he gave them her husband gambled away. I’m not concerned about what they do next.

Then I get to write off my sister and her husband until:

A) she asks me for help (she never will unless…)

B) he dies and she asks me for help

C) she dies

So not only did I lose my father, his death also enforced the growing gap between my sister and I. Her husband has cost her all her friends in IL, her extended family in MI, and now her brother and SIL.

I love rping with my friends too, I would call it inprov too.. we just go with what we think. Teehee- 💘

What’s the smallest step I can take toward clarity today? (And what’s a slightly larger step, for reference)

What has uncertainty taught me in the past and how can I use it now?

How does uncertainty open up new possibilities I hadn’t considered?

If I turned down the volume on ______ thought, what would I notice? What would I be able to hear instead?

If this thought were a newspaper headline, how would I rewrite it to be more balanced ?

What have I already achieved that contradicts the doubt I’m currently feeling?

What does “good enough” actually look like?

This is also a piece you're gonna have to forgive me for, I don't know anything about them. We'll see where this gets us lol

~

Jason sits on a rock overlooking a small pond. He watches the water with critical, but haunted eyes. He wants, more than anything, for peace and quiet.

He's lucky he gets quiet.

Jason hears the screams again. He hears them even when his eyes are open. He hears them at night when the nightmares take hold. He hears them when his mind wanders and take him back to that fateful day everything changed.

Jason had been awake when Billy was killed. Contrary to the belief that he wasn't, and was therefore spared the pain of hearing Billy's death. Jason had heard. Jason had heard the sword stab Billy's chest, Jason had heard Billy's lungs fill with blood, Jason had heard Billy choke on his blood as it suffocated him, crawling up his throat to smother him. Jason had heard it all, and Jason can hear it when he's not distracted. The images of Billy dying, of Billy meeting his eyes as the light Jason had adored dimmed and was extinguished- those memories still haunt him, even all these years later.

Jason curses the day Tommy came to Angel Grove.

"Jase?" calls a familiar voice.

Jason doesn't turn, despite knowing who it was, and likely what they wanted.

"Hey, man, you okay up there?"

"Jason, please, come down."

Jason doesn't move. The screaming still echoes. Someone touches his shoulder and Jason reacts without thinking. He grabs the wrist and yanks, bringing Bulk into his vision.

"Whoa, hey!" Bulk says, "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Kim comes up on Jason's other side. "Jase, it's okay," she says. "We're here. We know."

Because Kim had been there too, the day Billy died. Kim, just like Jason, can hear the screams as well. Unbidden, Jason's eyes fill with tears and he tries to hold them back. He feels like he's been handed a pamphlet that says, "Congratulations, you survived the war! Now live with the trauma!"

"Jase," Kim says. She kneels to his level, looking him in the eyes. Bulk squats to be below him, looming at him with eyes so soft, Jason almost can't believe Bulk ever bullied the Rangers back in school. "Jase, talk to us," Kim pleads.

"Please, Jason," Bulk adds.

Kim offers him a smile. Jason's emotions burst like a waterbaloon, and the tears come flooding down. Kim drags him into a hug, and Jason grips her dirt-stained jean jacket as if he'd float away if he didn't keep hold. Bulk wraps his arms around both of them and holds on just as tight.

Jason sobs, cries long and hard, pouring his grief into his tears and crying. The tears drip onto Kim's shoulder, but she says nothing. Rubbing his back, Kim hums a gentle song. She just sits there and lets him cry, lets him grieve. Bulk squeezes Jason's shoulder, says nothing. They both offer their gentle comfort and all the kindness this world will allow.

"It's okay, Jase," Kim whispers.

"You're alright, Jason," Bulk echoes.

"You don't have to be alone anymore."

~

....

~~~

Prophet isn't speaking. His voice is gone from the screaming he's done. Mick wishes he could fix it when instead of making noise, Prophet flinches away from his hands.

They drag him back to the cell the agents are trapped in. Not because he cuffed, but because he's half-conscious and bleeding from just about everywhere. They dump him on the filthy ground and walk away laughing.

The second they're gone, Mick's off his ass and darting up to Prophet's side. "Prophet?" he whispers. "Hey, stay with me, Prophet."

Prophet stirs, breath rasping from his throat in a barely-there wheeze. His lips move but no sound comes. There's a soft click somewhere in Prophet's throat that Mick deduces must be the other agent's attempt at Mick's name.

"Hey," Mick hushes, carefully picking him up and carrying him closer to the wall and threadbare blanket Mick's been shredding into bandages. "Shh, it's okay. I'm right here, darling."

Prophet stirs a little further. Mick doesn't have to be a doctor to diagnose a concussion, but they really should get Prophet to a doctor soon.

The door creaks open, and Mick jumps to his feet. Whipping around, Mick finds a tall and lean man standing in the doorway to their cell.

"It doesn't have to go this way," the man says. He's black, between thirty and fourty years old. From his accent, he was raised by Irish parents. "All you have to do is tell us what we want to know."

Right, the information. The thing is, Mick doesn't have it. "I won't tell you. I can't," is what Mick tells him.

The man smirks, cruel and evil. "Then this next part will be fun for me." He turns and shouts. "Boys! Bring the chains."

Mick lunges, but the man is faster and Mick is weak from hunger and sleep-deprivation. In seconds, Mick's flat on his ass, pinned between the floor and the man's boat as three more people stomp into the cell, and Prophet's being dragged off to the far corner of the cell.

"Leave him alone! He doesn't know anything!" Mick shouts.

The man chuckles, but says nothing.

"Please, hurt me! Leave him alone! I'm his superior, he doesn't know anything!" Mick pleads.

The man laughs again. "Oh, but we are hurting you," he draws.

And it's then Mick realizes that this was their plan all along.

~~~